Harvest Moon

Harvest-Moon-Image-Courtesy-of

She spells and conjures me

beyond resistance.

She strings and dances me

through frantic streets,

her hapless marionette,

clacking limbs

and wooden heart.

 

I am played and plucked

with ivory fingers

my strings vibrating

as she paints me

with this lunar grin,

new moon on her back

Cheshire feline fading.

 

It cannot last, this phantom face,

this bright madness.

She has me by the balls

and won’t let go.

She pulls me inside out

and whispers secrets

I don’t want to know.

 

Mistress, muse and madam,

Priestess and lover.

She commands me

and all my gestures.

Such brief moments

of elaborate ecstasy,

endlessly repeated,

is all i ask.

 

moon photo thanks to Google Images / poem by clinock

Harvest Moon

Harvest Moon 2

Full moon conjuring

beyond resistance.

She strings and dances me

along electric streets,

her hapless marionette,

clacking limbs

and wooden heart.

 

I am strummed and plucked

by ivory fingers

a lunar mandolin,

and she paints me

with this grin

for everyone I meet

and their dog.

 

It is not my doing,

this bright madness,

she has me by the balls

and won’t let go.

She pulls my eyes

into her pulsing orb,

blinding me.

 

She commands me

and all my gestures,

but when I look

into her autumn face

I see only you,

born of fields of gold,

sweet moonshine.

 

moon photo thanks to Google Images / poem by clinock